


Better Than Drugs

by neverdidnoharm



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Adult Content, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Cigarettes, Drug Use, Episode: s03e08 Rehabklok, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Post-Episode: s03e08 Rehabklok, Reader is Relapsed Alcoholic, Rehabilitation, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-26 10:36:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6235288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverdidnoharm/pseuds/neverdidnoharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two of you met in rehab; him being a metal drummer alcoholic and drug addict and you being a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who went to relapse. </p><p>Through the short weeks you spent with him, you came to two realizations; He was more addicting than any drug, and you never wanted to quit this drug.</p><p>[Reader x Pickles]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for my account on Lunaescence but never went anywhere with it. So I'm reworking it and tweaking it now for AO3!
> 
> I'm a huge fan of Metalocalypse and I absolutely loved Rehabklok so I wanted to write a story centered around Pickles time in rehab (and also writing a reader insert cause gotta share that Metalocalypse love)
> 
> The setting will mostly be in rehab but after the first ten chapters or so, the reader and Pickles will be out. 
> 
> Just a warning; there will be drug and alcohol references (from the reader) and drug and alcohol usage (by Pickles, of course). 
> 
> Read with caution if any of the following are triggering to you.
> 
> If not, please enjoy!

As you stepped inside the cold and clean rehabilitation center, you shivered a bit, and even though your arms were covered by your thick [color] hoodie, you still felt the icy chill run down your spine.

You didn't want to be here. It was a moment of weakness that put you back right where you had started years ago. The sterile white walls, judging looks given by the nurses and aides, the ashen faces of the recovering drug and alcohol addicts, seeking out anything to help them through their withdrawals. Everything about this place screamed death and despair, and you had escaped it alive only to be thrown right back in.

You had just started a new job and moved into the city. From the outside looking in, everything was looking up. However, unbeknownst to those who knew you, you were severely stressed from the workload placed on you and were having regrets about moving so far away from home. So, one night, after several years of being sober and carrying that sobriety coin in your wallet, you had a couple of drinks to wash down the pills you had taken. 

It was only to loosen up.

But once your roommate stepped into your apartment the next morning to find you knocked out with a bottle of pills in one hand and a wine glass in the other, it did not take her long to put two and two together and immediately call your family. 

After word had spread back home, your friends began to worry about you; their feelings being a mixture of worry and horror, and your parents didn't trust you, immediately demanding you come home and that you weren't ready to take on the world yet.

Deciding to 'get your life together', you agreed to go to rehab to keep your parents from dragging you back home screaming. Your friends breathed a sigh of relief but your parents didn't let their guard down. They forced you to stay for at least a few weeks to make sure you were put on the right path again and everything was alright with you. 

An elderly woman, a nurse in the facility, saw you standing there, immediately recognizing you, and shook you gently by the shoulder. Snapping out of your thoughts, you looked back and smiled a bit at the familiar looking woman.

"Hey there, Cecilia. You miss me?" You chuckle bitterly, stuffing your hands in your pockets. The nurse's eyes looked down and she sighed, "I thought you were clean, kid. You were one of the lucky ones to escape this hell hole and now, you're back." Her tired eyes looked back up at you before her lips spread into a grin, "Well, at least I got someone sane to keep me company for a while. Follow me, I'll show you to your old room. Made it up just how you like it."

With a nod, you headed down the hall where you surveyed each room. Inside, irritated doctors and psychiatrists argued with uncooperative and stubborn alcoholics and drug addicts. You rolled your eyes, "Typical..." you mutter under your breath.

You silently stopped at a room, and Cecilia opened it. Setting your duffel bag down, you turned to the elderly woman and smiled tiredly, "Thank-"

Your sentence was cut off by a doctor rushing over to Cecilia and talked to her, ignoring your presence, "Pickles is wreaking havoc... again."

Cecilia shook her head and looked over at you, "Sorry, kid... duty calls. We got a new troublemaker on our hands for a few weeks while you're here. Be back soon." she quickly left the room to chase down the troublemaker.

You nodded and started unpacking your duffel bag. As you finished unpacking, you heard a loud knock. Assuming it was the elderly head nurse, you opened the door.

Instead, you were greeted by a handsome red-headed man. 

You quickly surveyed his thin form, skullet red hair, pale skin and sharp green eyes. Unlike almost everyone here, including you, he looked alive. Rejuvenated. Like he was ready to get out of this hell hole now, kicking and screaming.

His distinct North Midwestern accent cut you off from your thoughts, "Hey.. um.. can I hide in here?" 

You blinked and gave him a weird look, "Uhm.. may I ask why?"

His face broke out into a grin and he put his hand out, "You must be new here.. I'm Pickles.." You blinked before chuckling and crossing your arms, "So you're the new troublemaker? The guy everyone's trying to hunt down?"

He nodded with a grin, "That would be me." 

You smirked, "Pleasure to meet you, Pickles. I'm [Your Name].. and I'd be glad to let you hide out here till later but what's in it for me..?"

The drummer chuckled and his grin got wider, "I can't really give you anything while we're in this place. But I promise I'll make it up to you once we get out. Deal?" He put his hand out to seal your agreement.

You pondered for a minute before shrugging, "Well, what have I got to lose? Deal." 

Your hands met before clasping together and shaking.

'Well, at least there's someone sane and reliable in this hell hole..' he thought with a smirk.


	2. Unpacking and Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Sorry it's been a while since I've updated, it's been hard to get ideas flowing but I finally sat down and got a chapter out!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the anticipated second chapter!

As you unpacked your duffel bag, which was mostly full of extra blankets and fluffy towels with a few t-shirts, leggings and jeans stuffed into a corner, Pickles watched you curiously and carefully from the stiff, metal chair in the corner of the room.

“Sooo… what brings you here? Not gonna lie, you don’t seem like the type to be in this hell hole of dreary douchebags and probing pricks…” Pickles asked, finally breaking the silence, leaning back against the chair lazily.

You chuckled dryly and turned your head to turn to the infamous drummer, “Wouldn’t you like to know? Before I open up, let me hear your story. What’s the drummer for a death metal band notorious for boozing up doing in a rehabilitation center? Is this like some weird publicity stunt like the stupid Ricki Kixx sobriety thing?” 

The drummer snorted and shook his head, grinning at you, “Damn, I wish it was, then I’d be getting paid to be in this dump.” 

He shrugged, “Well, since you know I’m in Dethklok, you know about the whole hover drum incident shit?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I heard you crashed into multiple planes.”

“Though, personally, I think the people who invented those were stupid not to make some auto-pilot function or at least realize you can’t fucking pilot a hover drum set when you’re boozed up and save the fancy invention for another performance.” You rolled your eyes, switching out the stiff, low-quality bed sheets with your blankets.

The redhead slapped his forehead and began pacing the compact room, “Thank you! Stupid pricks kept putting the blame on me… told me they made the decision to send me to fucking rehab… told me I was in “denial” and “couldn’t handle my booze”” He threw his hands up in the air, using air quotes to emphasize his point.

Your eyebrows rose and you continued to listen to him rant as you pulled out a tiny white box from a small compartment in your duffel bag.

“Like fuck those assholes! I can fucking handle my booze ten times better than those lightweights can! I’m Pickles the drummer of Dethklok – I’m like known for being the drunk of the group!” He continued to rant before stopping as he heard a ‘click’ sound.

His gaze turned to you as you had a cigarette propped between your lips, trying to light it with your old, worn-out black lighter. 

“How the hell did you get those past the guards?” Pickles’ eyes widened, swiping the pack from you.

“Hey, those are mine, you prick!” You stuttered out, quickly grabbing them back. Your eyes narrowed at him and you wagged the pack in his face, “I’ll let you have a smoke if you keep this a secret… and help me light this thing.” 

The redheaded drummer grinned and took up your offer quickly, grabbing the lighter from your hand. The gap between you and him became smaller as he got closer to you to light the cigarette dangling from your lips. His skinny, pale fingers skillfully flicked down the lighter, igniting a fire that matched the heat of your cheeks – a reaction to having the attractive musician close to you.

You took a puff, exhaling the smoke slowly. Your body felt warm and satisfied from the taste of smoke on your tongue. As you opened your eyes, you noticed a pair of piercing green orbs on you.

Pickles smiled in amusement, admiring how mellowed you looked, “You needed that, didn’t cha?” You rolled your eyes, throwing the pack to Pickles, “I’m guessing you need it too if you were so wiling to take up my offer.”

“Nah, I was fine honestly. Since I helped you light it though, how about you tell me how you got these past security?” Pickles shrugged, tossing the pack on the bed before taking a seat on it. 

Your eyebrows raise at Pickles’ willpower to resist the cigarettes and he chuckled at your reaction, “Sweetie, once you’ve had the hard stuff, the real good shit, a pack of cigarettes does nothing for you. Glad to see it fills you up, though. Now, mind answering my question?”

You sighed, admitting defeat. You plopped down on the bed, the duffel bag putting a space between you and Pickles. Opening up the main compartment, you dug to the bottom to reveal a hidden compartment you had cut into the bottom. Inside contained a few packs of cigarettes, a back-up lighter, and a bottle of pills.

“This isn’t my first rodeo.” You joked, covering up the hidden compartment once again. “Also, the pills are my anti-anxiety medication… the guards would’ve taken it away and I need this stuff to function day to day. So don’t get any funny ideas of stealing them.”

Pickles put up his hands in defense, “I won’t… as long as you teach me some of the tricks you know, cowgirl.” He smirks, winking at you.

The droning sound of the dinner bell echoed through out the rooms in the rehabilitation facility, cutting you off. You reached back into your duffel bag to grab a pack of cigarettes and headed towards the door, which Pickles looked at you as if you were insane for taking your stash out into the open.

“Don’t question me, just follow my lead.” You grin, shoving the pack into your oversized hoodie.


End file.
